The only way I knew how

Pardon me for my choice of topic, which is probably already coming out of your eyes and ears by this time. As my Facebook status update says: I am yellow-minded. I don't know what has gotten into me these past few days, but I'm currently obsessing on the husband-and-wife tandem of Ninoy and Cory Aquino. Sure, the latter died last week and it was virtually impossible not to feel the strong emotions that descended upon this country soon after that: grief if you heard Cory's bodyguards; anger if you watched Willie Revillame; disgust if you saw Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

Even so, I am very apolitical by nature. I consider most political figures as the most dishonorable people one will ever meet in his lifetime. I relate more to security guards and janitors than I do to senators and mayors. And I say that without condescension. Which probably prompted me to post a rather insightful but (with hindsight) ignorant question on my Facebook account: "Am I a bad Filipino because I felt more sadness with the passing of Michael Jackson than I do now with President Cory Aquino?"

I meant it at the time. And who could blame me? I grew up singing ‘One Day In Your Life' and dancing to ‘Billie Jean'. On the other hand, I never quite connected with Cory. As far as I was concerned, she had nothing to do with me and I had nothing to do with her (I first became eligible to vote during the 1992 presidential elections). Conrado de Quiros's unceasing criticism of her presidency only made me more indifferent to her relevance.

In truth, Cory had a lot to do with me. It was during her term that foreign car companies either returned to or invested in the Philippines. Many of these carmakers had pulled out during the time of Ferdinand Marcos as the worsening political and economic conditions had rendered the country unsuitable for business. Two of the leading car companies today opened their current offices on Cory's watch--Toyota Motor Philippines in 1988 and Honda Cars Philippines in 1990. It's safe to say that if Cory did not wrest the reins of government from the Marcoses in 1986, we wouldn't have a decent auto industry today--much less car magazines, newspaper motoring sections and automotive websites.

Shortly after I'd written my imbecilic Facebook post, a genuine and deep despondency began to well inside me. For some reason, all I could think of while driving last Sunday were Cory and Ninoy, although this may have been the direct result of the fact that my driving music was Tony Orlando's ‘Tie A Yellow Ribbon 'Round The Ole Oak Tree.'

What a cruel thing the world did to the union of these two, I thought. Their only fault was that they loved this country so much they were willing to temporarily part for 26 years (from 1983 to 2009, hello?). Imagine that. I was watching Ninoy videos last night and it was clear to me that he knew what was coming to him. He knew--Cory knew--they were going to shoot him once he got off that China Airlines plane. He knew he wouldn't see Cory again--at least not until Saturday last week, when Cory finally went home to him.

When I said earlier I was obsessing on Ninoy and Cory, it wasn't in a political context. I wasn't thinking of them as the former senator and the former president. I was thinking of them as an amorous couple whose romance had been interrupted just because they had been born to a nation of people who pathetically required the extremely dramatic and tragic before they did anything for themselves.

The only song I listened to inside the car last Sunday was that yellow-ribbon tune. The song has a sad first two stanzas, but the last one simply bursts in triumphant celebration. Learn the song now if you have no idea what I'm talking about. You will do yourself some good. It's about being reunited with a loved one in spite of life's many detours--which, in the case of this song, include prison.

And so to my surprise and then delight and then embarrassment, I was suddenly far more dejected than I had been with the demise of a possibly smooth criminal. It had finally sunk in: Cory, the plain housewife who took on the job of restoring honesty, morality and philanthropy in this hellhole we consider home, was truly gone. All of a sudden, I was filled with an overflowing gratitude toward this woman--not so much for being the 11th president of our republic as it was for showing me how to love unconditionally and then preserve that love until her dying breath.

And because I'm a sucker for feel-good love stories--I wanted to give Adam Sandler a standing applause for The Wedding Singer--I was overwhelmed with a desire to honor Cory before she could be laid to eternal rest. My humble idea? A simple motorcade at the break of dawn on August 5, the day of her interment. The concept, hatched by yours truly and Ariel de Jesus of Motor Image Pilipinas, was so simple I only announced it on Facebook very late afternoon of the previous day--almost a guarantee that no one would show up and join us.

The motorcade wasn't a stunt. I had nothing to promote and I had nothing to show off: My car is a modest and small hatchback that has seen better days. It wasn't a juvenile exercise in cheap thrills either: If I'm being honest, I love my sleep more than any revered corpse. But a simple motorcade was all my simple mind could come up with to honor President Corazon Aquino.

Fortunately, even in its utmost simplicity, the idea attracted a few good men and women: Sam Liuson of Wheel Gallery; Kristoff Arcega of Motor Image Pilipinas; Arnold Belleza of BusinessWorld; Edna Belleza of Philippine Entertainment Portal; Tessa Salazar of Philippine Daily Inquirer; Grace Enriquez of CATS Motors; two guys from the Subaru Club of the Philippines; and Edna's brother-in-law Warren.

The convoy was only eight cars long but it cruised with unbelievable pride. The vehicles were a strange mix of one Lexus (with an Andres Bonifacio mural), two Subaru Impreza WRX STIs, one Subaru Forester, one Isuzu Alterra, one Isuzu Crosswind, one Honda Civic and one Honda Jazz. Adorned with bright yellow ribbons, our cars took off from the Petron station on Macapagal Avenue in Pasay and traversed the length of Roxas Boulevard all the way to Intramuros in Manila.

When our mini motorcade went inside Intramuros, the policemen wanted to refuse us entry but thought better of it after seeing Andres Bonifacio wielding a bolo on both flanks of the Lexus. We probably came across as friends of Kris's--she with that insatiable need to call attention to herself--thanks in large part to our ostentatious lead car.

Nowhere to go and nothing to see inside the restricted fortress, we motored out and proceeded to drive around the Anda Circle at the Port Area exactly eleven times with a schmaltzy view to paying homage to the numerical order of Cory's presidency. There were no CNN or even ANC cameras to capture what we did and preserve it for posterity's sake, but a handful of bystanders visibly appreciated the spectacle. They celebrated the moment with their camera phones.

You know there is nary a doubt about a person's probity if she is able to earn the approval of those on wheels as well as those on foot.